


The Negotiations

by helloshepard



Category: Mass Effect, The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Mnemosurgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theirs is a shared history, in nearly every way except one: the ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> Written (sort of?) at the request of domeychrome on tumblr. We had skype chats about how geth and Cybertronians would Not Get Along, and then this happened.

It is brought to Prowl first.

Normally, Wheeljack and Perceptor would conduct a thorough threat assessment, but they are on the far side of the planet, aiding the natives with a local irrigation problem.

The task falls to Prowl.

The aliens _look_ suspicious—they remind Prowl of Shockwave, all perfect stillness and one eerie optic, though these are significantly smaller and slimmer than the Decepticon’s tactical scientist.

The thought of Shockwave makes Prowl’s jaw clench, and he asks, more harshly than necessary:

“Designation?”

The creature stares at Prowl.

“Geth.”

_Geth._

Somehow, word sits wrong in Prowl’s mouth. Though no meaning can be given to a word except the meaning a being ascribes to it, there is something _wrong_ with it.

Prowl shakes the thought off. His is a world of logic: facts and numbers and truths, not of half-formed feelings and impressions from another life a thousand years ago.

“And your species?”

Its optic narrows, focusing on him. Though it is less than half his size, Prowl cannot help but feel it is _reading_ him.

“Geth.”

He frowns.

From the shadows, Chromedome shifts, uncomfortable. The mnemosurgeon is _uncomfortable_ with this meeting, Prowl knows.

More to the point, Prowl does not care.

The alien steps forward.

Its armor—if it could be called that—appears tough, covering vital areas and leaving joints exposed. Thick cabling seems to hold this alien together, and it walks with a slight hunch, as if it is unused to the action.

“We know your species.” The ‘geth’ raises a three-digit hand to gesture in Prowl’s direction. “Cybertronians. We have been observing your war since the _Ark’s_ construction.”

The Autobot’s gaze remains steady, but sends a comm to Chromedome. Though he knows the answer, Prowl makes a note to double-check the encryption level he had placed on the _Ark’s_ construction plans.

Chromedome steps forward.

Prowl keeps his face neutral.

“Why?”

The geth’s shoulders straighten, and its optic narrows to a pinprick of light against its dark face.

“This data will only be relayed to Optimus Prime.”

Another geth steps forward.

This one looks different—where the first alien has impeccable, polished armor, this geth’s plating is cracked and broken. An unfamiliar designation is branded onto its badly repaired chest, and its torso still has a hole, letting Prowl see its inner cabling and spinal column.

“Your concern is understandable.”

The geth’s head plating pops up.

Prowl reaches for his weapon, but it merely appears to be a rudimentary form of expression. The geth looks comical. Confused.

“I will wait with you while the information is relayed to Optimus Prime.”

The other geth protests. Clicking and static noises only highlight the notion, and for a moment, Prowl wonders if that is how they _communicate._

He glances at Chromedome. Thought the mnemosurgeon’s optics are resigned, Chromedome nods. He knows what needs to be done.

“Fine.” Prowl nods at the door.

“You’re staying—” he points at the older model, then waves his hand at the other. “You. Go.”

The damaged geth clicks a response at its companion, who walks through the door faster than Prowl thought possible.

For a moment, he wonders what it is going to tell Prime. This world is just one of a thousand others they have visited—and one of a thousand more that they will leave burning.

The door hisses shut behind the geth.

The alien has its audience.

Prowl nods.

Despite their strange, nearly Cybertronian appearance, the geth are small—barely two mechanometers high. Chromedome restrains it easily enough, but the geth does not protest.

It looks up at Prowl.

“I am Legion.”

Prowl glares.

“Is that a _threat?”_

The geth tries to pull away from Chromedome, but the Autobot’s grip is strong, and the alien is forced to its knees.

“That is my name.” Its head plating pops up again, then clicks back into place. “I will answer any questions you ask.”

With a soft _click,_ Chromedome’s needles find their way into the geth’s neck.

Prowl had taken a gamble asking Chromedome to read one of them but their systems appeared so similar—primitive, but similar—it’s a calculated gamble.

One that has paid off

“Tell me.”

The geth replies instantly, but its voice is strained.

Chromedome shakes his head, but does not withdraw.

“Clarify.”

“Tell me the geth’s intentions.”

“We operate independently. Forming a consensus is no longer necessary.” The geth tries to pull away. “We intend to return to Rannoch. This mission was a failure.”

Chromedome nods and the geth goes limp, supported only by the mnemosurgeon’s hand.

Prowl allows himself a small, bitter smile.

“What are _your_ intentions?”

“Return to Rannoch.”

“Besides that.”

The geth stares up at him, a bright, empty light fixated on his face.

“Continue rebuilding quarian infrastructure. Protect—” The geth clicks and stutters static. “Protect Tali.”

“Quarian? Tali?”

“Native to Rannoch. Well—settled peace agreement. Tali was vital.”

Prowl nods.

These tidbits of information were, on their own, useless, unless he was going to throw them back at the geth in some other way.

 _Rannoch_ and _quarians_ bring up no results in a quick datanet search. Prowl frowned. Either it was making this up, or the geth are a long way from home.

“Legion.” Prowl takes a slow step forward. “Tell me what you are doing here.”

“The Cybertronian civil war mirrors ours. We wished to facilitate communications before your species is destroyed.” Chromedome pulls back and the geth falls to the floor. White liquid that looks a little too much like Energon leaks from its neck. “We have arrived too late.”

Its optic shuts off and the wires inside its torso go dim.

Chromedome is holding his helm.

“Well?”

“It’s true,” the mnemosurgeon says. “The geth, the quarian, their peace treaty. Even their plans to come here.”

Prowl looks down at the unconscious alien.

“And their own war?”

“A group of geth broke away to follow a ‘Reaper’. Legion and a Shepard-Commander stopped them.”

“Ah.” Prowl turns back to look at the closed door, and wonders again what the other geth is telling Prime. “What did they do?”

“They chose to destroy them. The Shepard-Commander said rewriting the geth was wrong.”

“Rewriting?”

Chromedome drops his hand.

“Prowl. The Decepticons aren’t _geth._ You can’t just throw a virus at them and expect everyone to come around to your way of thinking!”

“You read a geth, didn’t you?” Prowl points at the offline machine. “Similar enough.”

“Before they were individuals.” Chromedome sighs. “It’s a long story.”

Prowl jerks his head at the door. “We’ve got time. What about that?”

“He won’t remember it.” Chromedome frowns. “I think.”

////

“Historical data conclusively reveals the fact that long-term internal—civil—wars hamper growth and productivity for undetermined lengths of time.”

The Prime nods.

Though the geth has been an independent mind for just one standard year, it knows this creature is not convinced.

For a moment, it wishes Legion had been the one to speak. After all, Legion is the one with years of geth-nongeth experience. Legion is the geth’s official representative.

But this geth understands why it was selected.

It is easily the smallest out of the party. Smaller, less of a threat. _Safer._ The hunter and prime models were sent to the other side of the planet, with the intention of reaching out to the other faction’s representatives, leaving this geth and Legion to facilitate communications with the Autobots.

“I assume you are presenting this evidence to the Decepticons as well.”

The geth nods.

“Yes.”

Were the geth better at ascribing emotion, it would have said the Cybertronian’s optics were _sad._

“If your information is as good as you believe, you must know the Decepticons will attempt to recruit your race.” The Cybertronian pauses, long enough for the geth to become aware of the silence. “By any means necessary.”

However, the geth understands _threat._

It is one of the oldest tones in its archives. Every geth, no matter how small its processing capacity, knows _threat._

Carefully, it asks:

“What do you propose?”

The Cybertronian takes a step forward.

“We offer you an alliance. Your technology will offer us an advantage, and our…” The Cybertronian hesitates, though the geth knows what it is about to say. “…size. Will give you the assistance you need to repel any Decepticon invasion.”

“We are prepared to dissuade any invasion.” The geth says. “The Reaper threat has been neutralized and Rannoch is thriving. The quarian’s Migrant Fleet stands ready to repel any attempts at invasion.”

Yes, geth know _threat._

The Cybertronian’s optics narrow.

“Autobots believe that freedom is the right of all sentient beings. I will not force you into this alliance, but I welcome you to return after your meeting with Megatron has concluded.”

The geth tilts its head.

“Platforms are currently meeting with the ‘Decepticons’.” It pauses, more for effect than anything else. “It is uneventful.”

Not the truth, but not a _lie_ either.

“Mm.” The Cybertronian nods. “In any case, I wish you well.”

The geth knows when a cause is lost. It turns to leave, signaling Legion of its failure.

The other platform is slow to respond, and when they meet again, the geth notices its companion is noticeably slower than before. Fluid, the fluid the geth see only when they are created or destroyed, is smeared across its plating, but Legion does not know where it is from.

The geth is immediately wary of their two greeters, and does not relax until they are back at the ship.

They communicate with a hundred different sounds, unintelligible to anyone but a geth, but the results of the communication can be summed up in one word.

_Failure._


End file.
